Father and Son
by liamarehorselover
Summary: Gibbs and Tony's relationship from Jackson Gibb's eyes.
1. Chapter 1

Son

I watch as Leroy helps his guest to the door. Tony is standing in the doorway, listening to my son talk to him as he struggles to put on his coat one handed. Leroy sighs, then says, "Here." and helps him put it on, zipping it up and saying, "You got your scarf?"  
>"Yes, Boss."<br>"Because I don't want to do the paperwork when you catch pneumonia, DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss. Here's the scarf, see?" Tony makes a show out of putting in around his neck, but I can see he's pleased with Leroy's concern, especially when he grabs the scarf and loops it around DiNozzo's neck again. He hands the boy the leftovers, and his present, back in it's box, then asks, "Your Dad call you and confirm?"

"Yes, Boss."  
>"Don't stay out all night waiting for him."<br>"I won't boss."  
>"You better not. And call me when you get home."<br>The boy shrugs, "I might be pretty late boss."

". DiNozzo."  
>"Yes, Boss."<br>"You call your cab?"

"Yes, Boss."  
>"Be careful."<br>"I always am Boss."  
>"And take your inhaler. You have it right?"<br>Tony sighs a little and produces an inhaler from his pocket, saying, "See?"  
>Leroy nods, "All right then. You be safe."<br>"I will Boss."  
>"Have a good time."<br>"You too Boss."  
>Leroy pauses for a minute before hugging Tony breifly, then telling him, "Merry Christmas DiNozzo."<br>"You too Boss. Jack."

The cab honks and Tony tells my son, "I'll see you Monday Boss."  
>"'Kay DiNozzo."<p>

Leroy comes back over to the couch and turns back to the game, telling me, "Glad he came over."  
>I nod, then ask, "He wasn't doing anything with his father?"<br>Tension radiates from my son's frame as he informs me, "Had a business lunch and wasn't free until tonight."  
>I sputter a little, and Leroy nods, "I know."<p>

"Business lunch?"  
>"I know."<br>"What in sam hill is wrong with that man?"  
>"That" my son turns to look at me, "I don't know."<br>"He treats the boy like that all the time."  
>Leroy sighs and shakes his head, " Tony's just glad he's acknowledging he's alive."<p>

I can hear the anger in my son's voice, and I shake my head. It's been a long time since something's made Leroy that angry. A very long time. I ask him, "You're not to fond of the man?"  
>"Like to kill him myself some days. Don't know why DiNozzo puts up with what he does. Half the time the man leaves him completely destroyed and doesn't even realize it."<p>

It occurs to me rather suddenly why Leroy wants Tony to call him after he gets home. Tony, for all his protestations of distance, is rather fragile where family is concerned, and Leroy knows it. That's why Tony has a permanent room in Gibb's house and a place at the dinner table. Gibbs wasn't the only one who needed a family, Tony needed one too.

I watch as my son sighs and checks his watch, then says, "He won't call for a couple of hours. You want some coffee?"  
>I nod, "Sure, son. That'd be nice." I settle in for a long wait, knowing that Leroy won't be happy until either Tony has called him and told him he's fine, or until the boy is safely ensconced in his guest room. I can guess which one my son would prefer, although from the look of the room, Tony is slowly but surely moving in with him. I wonder if either one of them has realized that yet.<p>

Instead I ask him, "How long have you two been working together now?"  
>Leroy cocks his head as he thinks, "Ten years now. In September it was ten years."<p>

"Was he always this way?"  
>He laughs, "You mean obnoxiously smart and a mouth that won't close?" the words are harsh, but the tone is kind, the tone of a father talking about his son, "He used to be worse. He's more sure of himself now."<br>I remember the insecurity in Tony's eyes when he says anything worth hearing. I remember the way Leroy reassured him almost instinctively, knowing when to nod his head or say something else. I remember the way his eyes lit up when Leroy told him, "Good job on the potatoes DiNozzo."

Thinking about it, I have a hard time imagining a man less sure of himself.  
>He sees my train of thought because he says, very quietly, "He used to not even believe he'd actually done a good job."<br>"What - "  
>Leroy shrugs, "His father. Peoria. Philadelphia. Baltimore. Kid's amazing with a little bit of confidence, but no one bothered to give it to him."<p>

The idignance in my son's voice at that makes me smile. He should be indignant on Tony's behalf, and I agree with him, the kid is amazing.

Jethro dozes off, but is instantly awake three hours later when his phone rings. He picks up, "Gibbs. Hey DiNozzo. What? What's the matter? Tony, Tony, calm down. All right. I'll be there as soon as I can. Hold tight."  
>He's up like a shot, telling me, "I'll be back. Gotta go get DiNozzo."<br>I nod, almost frantically, unsure of what to do, "I need to do anything?"  
>He shrugs, "Maybe heat him up some food. I doubt he'll feel like it, but – "<br>It's something to do at least, and I heat the food, then watch the game religously, until I hear voices coming up the walk. I open the door to see my son with one of Tony's arms slung over his head. Tony is hissing with every step, favoring one leg. Leroy's telling him, "Take it easy DiNozzo. We're almost there. Just keep going a couple more steps..."

He sees my face then tells me, "He has a bad knee. It stiffens up when people leave him waiting out in the cold."  
>"Hmm." I gather it's an upsoken protest, because Leroy tells the boy, "Sit down. We'll talk about it when you're not about to fall over."<br>"Hmm."  
>Leroy smiles a little at that as he eases Tony down onto the couch and helps him prop his knee up, then helps him off with his coat. Tony leans back against the couch gratefully, telling him, "Th- thanks."<br>Leroy nods and covers him up with a blanket, then asks, "I need to call Ducky?"  
>Tony shakes his head, "Not swollen. Just stiff."<br>"All right."

I follow my son into the kitchen where he sticks a homemade hot pad into the microwave and waits for it to beep before carrying it out to Tony. He drapes it over the boy's knee, telling him, "You'll feel better soon, DiNozzo."  
>"I kn-now."<br>"You're staying here tonight."  
>"I kn-now."<p>

"Good. That's settled. You ready to go to bed?"  
>A slow sort of nod. Leroy gets the boy up and with my help into his guest bedroom. I walk out but linger in the hallway as I hear him talking to Tony as he helps him into old sweats and into bed. I hear a creak, then peer around the doorway curiously, to find my hardened Marine Corps son sitting by Tony and stroking his hair. Tony is trying not to fall asleep, and Leroy tells him, softly, "Close your eyes DiNozzo. I'm not going anywhere."<p>

Tony closes them obediently, and true to his word Leroy remains on the bed, still carding through the boy's hair. I don't intrude on the moment, and Leroy, as preoccupied as he is with getting his agent to sleep, doesn't notice me. I realize after a few minutes that he's humming something under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear, but it seems to be having the proper effect on Tony, who is half-asleep by now and edging towards unawareness.

I could come in, but I don't. I recognize what I'm seeing here, as Leroy pulls the blankets over Tony's shoulders and murmurs, "Sleep tight, Tony."

That is not a moment between superior and employee, or between friend and friend.

That, what I just witnessed, was a moment between Father and Son. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy helped him pack, boxing up things that he'd long since forgotten that he had. They got everything in the moving truck and sent it on ahead, for the military transport, and they hugged and exchanged information, and Jimmy told him, "Call, Tony. All right? Please?"  
>He'd nodded, and actually meant it, because Palmer actually wanted him to. He'd said, "I will Jimmy. Maybe not right away, but – I will."<br>Jimmy nodded, "That's good enough for me."

IT was nice. Nice to know he was good enough, for someone. That he didn't have to explain himself to everyone.

Ziva and McGee both reacted about the same way. A little laugh that cut far, far deeper than it should have. Abby got mad, Ducky just hugged him, called him "My dear boy" and went off to scarp his information from Palmer.

Gibbs –

He stood outside of Gibb's house that night, wondering if he really wanted this. Until he went in there, he didn't have to go. He could back off, back away, tell Vance he'd changed his mind.

But he didn't want to do that. Vance had encouraged him to take the job, told him that he should be recognized for his talents. The job in Italy wasn't a lead position, but after Gibb's retirement fiasco he hadn't wanted one. The man he was under seemed nice, and the warmer climate would be better on his still struggling lungs. It was a good descicion, one of the truly good one's he'd made in his life.

He opens the door, goes down into the basement, tells Gibbs everything. Confession is good for the soul, after all, or so Kate told him.

Pain is good for it too. He figured he'd had enough of both to reform him permanently.

Gibbs didn't say anything a long minute once he'd spoken, just nodded, "Good for you."

He was so stunned he didn't even protest as Gibbs drew him closer, kissing the top of his head, almost like a benediction, "Good for you."

Of all the possible reactions, he hadn't expected that, and he smiled a little, letting Gibbs hold onto him a minute until they both became uncomfortable. Gibbs asked him, "When are you flying out?"  
>He tells him, "A couple of days."<p>

Gibbs nods, "You have your stuff all packed up?"

He ends up spending three days in Gibbs' spare room, helping him work on a boat and drinking bourbon. They don't say much, they never did. Gibbs drove him to the airport, stood with him until his flight was called, then gave him a hug that lasted half a second and handed him an envelope. "Here."  
>He takes it, without thinking, and begins to open it, but Gibbs swats him on the back of his head, "Get. Your flight's goin to leave without you."<br>It isn't until after he's buckled up and their taxiing down the runway that he opens it, smiling at the terse note.

_For my son..._

It was a medal, he'd long since told Gibbs he was a lapsed Catholic, and he smiled as he saw which one. St. George. The Patron Saint of heroes.


End file.
